After some time, Finn and Chestelle finally reached the group of survivors. And he was immediately taken aback. Somehow, they all looked fine—much better than he was, and somehow even less dirty.
Which, of course, annoyed him.
Adventurers and villagers alike were slowly gathering themselves together, some still trying to process what had just happened, while others lay in the mud, utterly defeated. Conversations buzzed around him, half frantic, half confused.
Finn's eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for Majestria—or anyone he knew. But no matter where he looked, no familiar face appeared.
Panic began to creep in. 'Damn it…'
Chestelle tugged gently at his sleeve, like a concerned child. "What's wrong?"
"I can't find them," Finn muttered, frustration thick in his voice. "You know—that's why we came here. To find them."
"You never said that," she replied innocently. "You just stared and looked around."
Finn bit his lip. "Well… it should have been obvious!"
